Likeness
by unlikely2
Summary: Across fields of time and possibility, amidst a shimmering murmuration of realities, in a ruined world where years ago a schoolboy was killed by a werewolf, help has been foretold. The imprint that should have been a portrait, rejected, is still determined to protect the school. Severus Snape finds himself back in the tunnel with a furry, not so little problem. (AU Redo).
1. Enter pursued by a werewolf

"_Depulso!" _Even wordless, the spell had been powerful enough to bounce the werewolf off the roof before continuing its rolling, scabbling trajectory down tunnel.

Snape glanced at his arm. While he felt no pain, he had been bitten. _"Accio infectious materials!"_ .

The resultant pink mist, given present company, was unhelpful. _"Evanesco!"_ got rid of it but now his arm was bleeding freely enough to be a challenge even without the hairy problem that he could hear righting itself around a bend in the tunnel. The growling sounded most put out.

Possible cursed wound, he thought. Magic applied directly to the body risked feeding it. Muggle methods then, magically applied. _"Brachiabindo!"_ At the last moment he had to divert the spell. Lupin thumped to the ground, glaring cross-eyedly at his now tightly bound maw. Razor clawed paws came up to free it. Damned fool will take his face off, thought Snape, exasperated, as he reapplied the bandaging spell.

Lupin then tried to use his rear paws.

When all that could be seen of the creature was its nose, the tip of one ear and a tufted tail, Snape got to his feet. Breathing and heart rate slowing, he addressed the lacerations to his arm. While much the worse for the removal of saliva, blood and flesh caused by summoning charm, they should no longer be infected. On the ground, Lupin emitted an aggrieved whine. Wrapped claws padded ineffectually at his muzzle. On consideration, Snape decided that the wolf was considerably larger than the boy: reversion at moonset wouldn't be a problem. Snape _leviosa_d him back into the shack and shut the door. He'd reached the tunnel entrance below the tree before it occurred to him to wonder why he had not given his childhood nemesis a good kicking and then answered that question: because he's a student. He stopped dead. In the light from the tunnel entrance he took in his own threadbare, mended and too small school uniform and realised he'd seen no Dark Mark. Fingers reached up to probe his woundless throat. He'd been bitten by Nagini, hadn't he?

He had answered the Dark Lord's summons only to find the dream team, in the very same room, hiding behind crates. He could only ascribe his being aware of them while his "Master" was not to his position as Headmaster of Hogwarts as well as the mage sight that had only become stronger as his physical health had burned up in the last dreadful year. That and the other's swiftly mounting insanity. And so, knowing the brat's insatiable curiosity would keep him until the Dark Lord had gone, he had pleaded to be allowed to look for Potter. When, finally, He had departed, Snape had been able to pass on his fatal message before himself feigning death.

Thirteen different antivenins, a cornucopia of antidotes, explosives and poisons (minus the four or five he had administered to Nagini via a healer's spell, which would, if nothing else, slow her down): even if his wandwork was compromised by injury, he was well equipped and determined to protect the school and the children in his charge. Of those who had boarded the train, he hadn't lost one yet. Because Narcissa had owed him a favour even Miss Lovegood, if not comfortable, had been fairly well treated. He was stagger-creeping along the tunnel when Minerva had reached for the wards.

Even against all four Heads of House he could have held onto them. Hogwarts still favoured him but, with battle in prospect, the defenders should not be second guessing themselves. And so, he had relinquished his hold only to find himself trapped in them, unable to advance or retreat, blood and magic bleeding out in darkness.

'Deal with what's in front of you,' he reminded himself. Jabbing the heel of his wand into the knot in the Whomping Willow, he climbed out of the hole. Stars blazed above. Dew sparkled on grass. Great swathes of light from the castle were too bright to look at. He cancelled the 'Bright Eyes' spell. Mundane if exceptional night vision setting in, he headed back towards the castle.

Perhaps, he mused, he was dreaming.

Perhaps he was dead and dreaming, his animated corpse lurching across the Hogwarts lawns, mindless and entirely too ready to take a piece out of anything it encountered. There was a reason that, in many parts of the world, former potioneers were burned (very carefully,) rather than buried.

He decided not to think about that.

Avoiding the usual entrances, he slid ghostlike among the greenhouses, through the wicket gate and down the hill into the shadow of a buttress. With or without the password, the old sally port wouldn't open to just anyone. His face resting against the cold stone he thought: 'I am here. Let me in,' and waited until there was a shift and a narrow door opened before him.

A strong smell of onions and earthy potatoes greeted him. The passage opened onto the landing of hidden staircase in a part of Hogwarts generally overseen by elves. Opposite, on this level, were mostly storerooms. Stairs led upward to the kitchens. He chose down, descending quietly to a platform overlooking a natural hollow, the aftermath of volcanic events that had shaped the landscape eons ago. Below, in the torch lit gloom of the cavern, the Hogwarts baggage train slept on its narrow-gauge tracks. Beyond the train, the tunnel to the terminus at Hogsmeade stretched down into its long catenary far beneath the ground. Magic and Saint Elmo's fire crawled along and across the cavern's walls, flaring off at times like lightening to the echoing sound of thunder: the extreme degree of Hogwarts's disturbance made manifest.

Something big was coming, something critical. And yet, as he watched, energy levels were dropping away which argued that, despite the castle and grounds seeming entirely normal from the outside, that something had already happened. Warily, he made his way down the many steps to the ground.

With his back against the wall and thoughts cleared, he waited for inspiration: to know where he was supposed to go or, perhaps, not to be. The instinct had grown with his mage sight but now, amidst this violent magical confusion, nothing was coming to him. Stubbornly, he forced himself upright. Black's whole story had probably been lies. Or, perhaps, only a part of it.

To one side, openings held contraptions more glorified dumb waiter than lift. Stumbling into one of them, he braced himself against bruised woodwork and said: 'Gryffindor Common. Take it up.' There was an odd, grinding noise as the lift was swallowed, mainly upwards, by a sort of stony peristalsis. Light and sound broke from above him and he found himself in a niche off the Gryffindor common room. Unobserved due to a spell similar to that hiding platform nine and three quarters, he looked around.

She was over by the window. Laughing. Sprawling comfortably, surrounded by brightness, books and friends.

Safe.

For now.

He became aware of the silence.

Somehow, only the table with its burden of homework stood between them. She looked up but he didn't need Legilimancy to read those thoughts. 'Oh no. What dreadfully embarrassing thing is he doing now?' was written clearly upon her face, mixed with concern. Because they were still friends. He opened his mouth and closed it. Somewhere there were words.

'Severus?'

Under miles of blue-green ice was a desire to cry that had nothing at all to do with him. He swallowed. 'I just wanted to know that you were safe,' he told her.

'And why shouldn't she be safe?'

Slowly, wary of his own momentum, he turned to look at a girl sitting just along the table: Mary McDonald.

'Because James Potter has Amortensia?' he said.

'Don't be so bloody daft. Don't you think we might notice something like that?'

'Are you with her every minute of every day? He asked. 'It wouldn't have to be for long.'

'Look,' came from beside him. 'Those boys might be toe rags but even they wouldn't do something like what you appear to be suggesting. Just what are you saying, Snape?' Again, he turned, this time to face a Gryffindor Prefect: all shiny badge and reminding him more than a little of Percy Weasley.

'Lèse-majesté,' he explained. 'She disrespected them. Punishment would be in order.' A pertinent detail surfaced from his capacious memory. 'Halliday, what do you think happened to your project?'

'What?'

'Little copper and brass spotty cat thing? Charmed to hunt down whatever you'd mislaid? I think Pettigrew had it.'

The prefect stormed off in the direction of the boys' dorms. As screaming began to be heard from the stairwell, he found himself smiling. Lily looked as though she didn't know what to think. She had been such a beautiful child.

She still was a beautiful child and he was sworn to protect children. 'Oi, Snape. You're bleeding.' He turned. 'Your arm, man. You're bleeding.'

He raised his left arm. Sodden cloth flapped down to reveal that he had bled right through the bandaging some time ago. 'Oh,' he said. 'Red.' And then: 'Whoever would have guessed?'

For his cheek, the table came up and slapped him.

Despite all the racket going on overhead, it was peaceful down on the floor. His eyes closed.


	2. fools rush in

Lavender and carbolic soap. Rectangles of yellow light that hadn't quite escaped from the ceiling down onto the wall. Early morning in the hospital wing. Snape rescued his wand from the bedside table and snuggled down into the bedding on his side, eyes half closed, watching the wall. A sort of magical tension having something in common with the onset of a sneeze vanished as wall became archway wide enough for two to pass abreast carrying a stretcher or a bier. A witch in the distinctive attire of her profession entered first and cast a spell that, were he not occluding, would have revealed that he was awake. 'Come through.'

Madame Pomfrey was followed by a sandy haired youth. The archway snapped back into non-existence behind him. 'You're quite sure you've told no one?' demanded the matron.

'Course not,' muttered Lupin.

'Nevertheless, someone knows. Do you have any idea who?'

Lupin was silent.

'Well.'

'I'll have to think about it. I need to go.' He took off in the direction of the toilets.

Pomfrey made a sound of annoyance and began to pull screens around the nearest bed. Snape pretended to sleep. Lupin returned, 'Who's that?' he asked gesturing.

'Severus Snape.' Lupin blinked, his hand straying towards his wand. Pomfrey rounded on him. 'Is there any way that he might he have suspected something.?'

'If it had been Snape who found me, I don't think I'd have woken up in bandages. I'm not sure I'd have woken at all. He hates me. He hates all of us Gryffindors.'

'For no reason at all, I suppose. You're to leave him in peace Mr. Lupin. I will close the screens and I will know if anyone touches them. I suggest you get some sleep.'

'I could just return to the tower?' Pomfrey just looked at him. Shoulders slumped, Lupin took himself off to bed. There was a dull, metallic ting as the screen closed behind him followed a faint wash of magic as the silencing spells cut in. The healer went into her office leaving the door open.

Snape turned over to face the doors to the corridor. He didn't have to wait long. A door opened a hands width and then closed. As soon as the rat appeared, scuttling along the wall, he hit it with a stunner. Getting out of bed he picked it up by the shoulders. 'Madame Pomfrey?' he called.

She came through almost immediately. 'Dear Merlin. Is that a rat? In my hospital!'

'I'll take care of it, shall I?' said Snape. 'Don't worry. It's out cold. It will be quite painless.' The door opened and a wand was brandished. A silent banishing spell slammed the door onto the arm eliciting a scream. A summoning spell on the door's edge opened it.

'You've broken my arm,' said Black clutching it, clearly in pain.

'Expelliamus. Accio wands.' Abruptly Potter was beside Black, holding a familiar piece of parchment. He summoned that too. Black's wand he caught. The other struck his side. He didn't see until it rolled out from under the falling cloak of invisibility. 'Call professor Dumbledore.' Pomfrey nodded and the mediwitch hurried out of her painting.

'Give us back . . .' began Potter and before stopping in his tracks.

'Stay right there,' said Snape, wand raised, making no bones about what would happen if they didn't. He dropped the rat onto the bed.

Green fire flared and Dumbledore stepped through the flue. 'What's happening . . . boys?'

'My pet rat escaped. We were trying to catch it. Snape attacked us for no reason. As usual. I'm sorry about the rat Madame Pomfrey.' Potter afforded Pomfrey his most winning smile. 'But really, he's pretty clean. We take care of him. I think Sirius arm's broken.'

While Pomfrey repaired the damage, Snape observed without ever seeming to raise his eyes from the floor.

'Your pet rat escaped you say?' Dumbledore, despite evident tiredness, was as patient as ever.

''Yes,' said Potter. We were finishing some prep in the common room. We only noticed when he made a run for it. I don't think the door can have been properly shut and he got out. We've been chasing him all over. He's surprisingly fast, sir.'

'I was just going to summon him back out when Snape slammed the door on my arm, sir,' Black added. 'He must be paranoid. Or something.'

While they had been talking, the Gryffindors had edged their way towards the bed. Potter picked up the rat. Black reached for the parchment but wasn't fast enough. 'Give that back Snape, it's ours,' he growled.

'Is it?' said Snape. Black lunged but Snape avoided. A shake caused it to unfold partially. 'Oh look. A map. Hospital Wing. Albus Dumbledore, Poppy Pomfrey, James Potter, Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew.'

'Peter's not here you dunce.'

'Yes, he is. You're holding him. He's an Animagus.'

'Perhaps,' said Dumbledore, 'you should put him down.'

'Sir?'

'Put the rat down on the bed Mr. Potter.'

Unwillingly, the boy obeyed. A light blue spell flew from Dumbledore's wand. Pettigrew rolled over and started to snore.

'Pet rat Mr. Potter?' enquired Dumbledore.

'We just didn't want him to get into trouble sir.'

'Enervate,' said Snape.

Pettigrew sat up. 'What happened?'

'You are an Animagus, Mr. Pettigrew.' While Dumbledore appeared calm, it was obvious to one who knew him that he was quietly furious.

'Who says?'

'We saw you. Why Mr. Pettigrew?'

'Why what?'

'Why would you do something so entirely stupid and dangerous?'

'Well we . . .' Out of sight of the Dumbledore and Pomfrey, Potter and Black were shaking their heads. Pettigrew shut up.

'We . . .?' suggested the Headmaster.

'Well. Everyone always makes a fuss about how great Sirius and James are. All the time. Even Remus. I got fed up with it. I wanted to prove myself. So, I got hold of the book and tried. None of them thought I could do it but I did.'

'Actually, sir,' said Snape, 'I wonder if you might have come across a rather odd rumour in Hogsmeade. ' He gave the Gryffindors his nastiest smile. 'A stag with a rat clinging to its antlers accompanied by two very large canines.' Blood fled from the boy's faces. 'James Potter, otherwise known as Prongs: a stag. 'Wormtail: Peter Pettigrew. 'Padfoot: a grim-like dog as seen on the Black family crest. And finally, Moony: Remus Lupin who is a werewolf.'

There was a long, long silence.

'We did it to keep Remus company so he wouldn't injure himself.' Potter volunteered finally.

'We were careful.,' Black put in. 'If we'd got into trouble Professor McGonagall would have sorted us out straight away.'

'Remus only got away from us the once,' added Pettigrew.

He could tell that Dumbledore really wished that he hadn't heard that. 'Have you anything further to say Mr. Snape.'

'Yes, actually.' He bent down, picked up the invisibility cloak and draped it over the bed. 'With this they can spy. Thieve. Place incriminating evidence. Hide. Before, during and after an attack. With the map they can find whoever they are looking for and know when that person is alone. "Scarcely credible," I think, were your exact words. The Headmaster's face was now ashen.

Snape considered the map in his hand. 'I would be curious to know how it works though. Something as complicated as this is . . . I can't see how it could be anything other than sympathetic magic.' He looked up. 'I think I've seen this before, except that it was blank. And not new. Which would imply the presence of some sort of active spell work. Considering the likelihood of a direct, bidirectional link with Hogwarts itself. . . ' Snape allowed a worried look to stray onto his face. 'If I were Headmaster, I think I would be curious as to the trigger.'

Dumbledore drew a deep breath. 'Well?'

The marauders had been caught in one lie after another and had become wary. 'Mischief managed,' muttered Pettigrew and the map faded.

'I see,' said the Headmaster. 'And to reveal the map?'

'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.'

A moment later the parchment was burning furiously in the fireplace. 'You fools,' grated Dumbledore. 'You utter bloody fools.'

The Gryffindors who had collectively taken several steps backwards clearly didn't get it. 'Mischief,' mused Snape. 'A deceptively trivial, even gentle word for evil.'

'Oh, come on,' said Potter.

'Everyone knows it's you Slytherins that are evil.' Black could not keep his mouth shut. 'Look at the stuff you knew even before you arrived. More Dark Arts than the sixth years. As to the potions . . .'

'Skill in both is a requirement for a career in Medicine. More healers come from Slytherin than any other house.'

'Healer? You?' Black's voice was pitched high with disbelief.

'Me,' said Snape. 'What you didn't realise . . . what I hope you didn't realise is . . . You have been swearing, by Hogwarts itself, that you were up to no good. At best this was neutral but then you clarified it. Mischief. Evil. By sympathetic magic, the map was effectively a part of Hogwarts. You swore on it: you swore on Hogwarts.' Realising that he was almost shouting, he stopped and began again more quietly. 'All the magic of this place. All of the years of its existence. You might as well have sworn a pact with a demon.' He found himself regarding them not with anger but horror. 'You bloody fools.'

'I think,' said Dumbledore, 'that it would be for the best if you were to be removed from any pernicious influence as soon as possible and by that, I mean the school. I shall be contacting your parents. You should pack. It may be possible for you to return after the summer or at some later date. I shall need to seek advice.'

'Wait,' said Snape. 'Before they go, they should swear not to reveal what they know about Lupin or to provide information that may lead to others finding out.'

'Remus is our friend: we wouldn't.' Potter was outraged but Dumbledore was nodding his head.

Black looked as though he was trying hard not to be sick. 'How do you want to do this?' he said.

'Sirius? asked Potter, softly.

Bent over, his arms wrapped around his chest, the boy looked nothing like the proud scion of the House of Black. 'I was stupid, right? I was . . . bloody stupid.'

'What did you do?'

'I made Snape think that you and Evens were in the shack. That you had _Amortensia_.'

That Potter actually struck Black should have filled him with joy. It didn't. He had hated the marauders for years but all he could see was foolish children. He wondered what in hell was wrong with him.


	3. the tower

He was already on his feet, stumbling across the floor. Hogwarts wanted him somewhere ten minutes ago. He hit himself with a disillusionment spell and, still half asleep, tried to crash quietly through the doors into the corridor which he took at a barefoot sprint.

It had started before his unexpected awakening in the tunnel, in his other life when he truly was a teenager, as an intuition to take one route through Hogwarts, rather than another. Or to stop and wait, for no reason that was in any way obvious. He had learned to trust it because bad things happened when he didn't. Sometimes they happened anyway but that was rare and at least he was expecting trouble.

He wondered if, perhaps it had begun as the obverse side of the marauders use of the map. For harm, protection because some magic sought balance. Had he obeyed the feeling of foreboding on that day by the lake, he would have gone anywhere else but there. Unfortunately, he had agreed to meet someone and, thinking himself safe in the crowd, ignored it. After that, the protection had been withdrawn. Later he would come to believe that he had only imagined it.

Until that fatal night on the tower, when the dying Dumbledore had pleaded for death and the instinct had returned to scream 'GET THEM OUT!', he would continue to think it merely a youthful fancy, just as he had thought that he knew the meaning of fear. He had been wrong. He admitted it and, for the sake of the children of Hogwarts and for his colleagues, he had obeyed.

It had waited for him, reaching into his dreams and settling into him when, finally, he returned as Headmaster. Some of his predecessors claimed that Hogwarts was sentient and had occasionally interacted with them in various ways. By the end of that final year, he'd been inclined to believe. Under the Dark Lord, his powers were limited but, augmented by his seemingly infallible ability to be wherever those who wished harm to children didn't want him to be, they had sufficed to keep the students alive. Certainly, there was something - either true sentience or some truly felicitous spellwork and he had trusted it absolutely until Lucius had sent him to the Dark Lord and there were no more safe paths. He could only pray, to whatever deity might hear him, for the protection of the school.

Now, haring up astronomy tower, round and around, floor after floor, two steps at a time, he could guess his destination. Someone was at the top and intent upon coming down the fast way. The disillusionment spell, he cancelled. It would only serve to panic whomever was up there

Over the centuries the school had collected a host of magical protocols. A muggle school might have employed counsellors. Hogwarts had Heads of House. Unhappy individuals were drawn to the towers where the wide skies, lakes and endless trees soothed many a troubled soul. The apparent ease of ending it all encouraged others to give life a little longer while invisible webs of magic waited to catch those who actually jumped. This was intended to be the very last line of defence against children harming themselves and, in truth, other forms of self-harm almost never happened. Longbottom and cauldrons possibly being an exception. The activation of the protective webs sent alarms directly to the Board of Governors because, for a child to attempt self-destruction, something had to be terribly wrong.

He emerged from the stairwell just as a figure stepped outward from a crenellation. Lunging forward, he managed to seize it below the arms. The sudden painful impact of the stonework drove breath from him. 'Let go!' snarled Black. Snape wedged his knees against the stone, as he continued losing the fight against gravity.

'Enquiry,' he gritted out. 'Lupin.' The other boy stopped struggling. 'Magic webs catch you. Automatic enquiry. Find out about Lupin, it's Azkaban.' Black got a grip on the stone and started pulling himself up. As his adversary flopped back inboard, Snape fell back against the parapet and wrapped his arms around his chest. The bruising was going to be spectacular.

If they found out about Lupin, they found out about him and, in whatever condition he arrived at the Ministry, he would leave as a werewolf. Regulations demanded that people who were newly bitten were placed on their own so that, if they weren't infected, they could be released unharmed. MacNair had boasted about the things he'd extorted from family members to make sure that happened. It made no difference. They went in with the rest and, if they survived, remembered nothing.

'Coin went down alright,' grunted Black.

'The coin wasn't alive.'

Black said nothing; simply huddled there, trying to occupy the smallest space possible.

'Why?' asked Snape.

'My family.' The words were whispered. Hesitation followed. 'They're not . . . right. Mother, mostly. Blood can get a bit too pure; you know. James said I could stay with him. Now . . .' He trailed off.

Bloody students, thought Snape. 'Is there no one else you can stay with?'

Slowly, Black forced himself to sit up, struggling and failing to reassemble the pureblood mask. 'No. There isn't. It's my mother.

Snape said nothing and waited.

'It's as if she doesn't believe other people are real.

He could feel hairs standing up along the back of his neck.

'It's as if we're all just stage props for her own personal psychodrama,' continued Black. 'Even when she is kind which, believe me, is not very often, it's not for you. It's just her playing a role. Anyone who even thinks to oppose her. . . Or if they just get in her way accidentally. It's their own fault that they get hurt. And, anyway, it really doesn't matter what happens to anyone else, because they are all so much lesser.' He choked. 'Andy. Uncle Alphard, I couldn't . . . I couldn't do that to them. They're . . . sort of real so, if she found out that they had defied her, they would be punished in . . . awful ways. Even if she didn't kill them, they might be better off dead.'

Snape hadn't even come close to imagining that Black's situation could be like that but, in his capacity as Head of Slytherin, he had heard as bad. And he had seen enough of Grimmauld Place to believe the boy. What he had just been told explained a lot of things actually. 'So, get hold of a tent and camp out in the woods,' he found himself saying. It had been good enough for the Boy Who Lived. 'Better yet, buy a tent. Buy everything you might need and have them send the bills to your family. Send them off on a wild goose chase and spend the summer wherever you like. Dammit, why do I have to be the one telling you this?'

A cough. 'S funny right? Snape. Knew you were sneaky.' He huffed, rolling his bruised shoulders. 'What happens after summer? I get my allowance in July or August. Right now, I don't much left and, even if I had . . How can I afford to pay school fees even if . . .? Even if they did allow us back.'

Snape stared at the worn stonework underfoot. ' Who do you think pays mine?'

'Dunno. Charity?'

'Try the Muggle government.'

'Yeah? In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not a Muggle born. Not even a half-blood.'

'It doesn't matter. The British Government pays for the education of everyone under eighteen. A bit more for children with special need or abilities. Hogwarts qualifies on both counts. Do you really see purebloods letting themselves be excluded from anything?' Black gazed at him askance . 'It would mean that you'd exist in the muggle world. National insurance Number. National Health Service number. Passport, if you apply for one. If your family chooses to pay the fees themselves to keep you off the Muggle books, that's up to them. If they don't, you still have a right to an education. You should speak to Professor McGonagall. It's easier to sort it out before Start of Term.'

'If I'm allowed to come back.'

Snape sighed. 'He'll blame a lot of what happened on the map. Dumbledore is a great believer in second chances. I should warn you now though. You will only ever get one. And if you do come back, he will be watching you.' Snape got to his feet, eyes straying over the school, looking for anything that might need attention from force of habit and discerning movement by the gates. 'Black,' he said. 'Lend me your broom.'

'What?' Black got up.

'Over by the gates.'

'Hagrid and . . . Aurors.' He pulled a face.

'Looks like someone wrote home. Black, lend me your broom. Summon it.'

'Why?'

'I'm going stop this going further. They cannot find out what happened last night. I don't have time for this.'

'_Accio my broom.'_ There was a bright explosion of glass from Gryffindor Tower. _'Accio James' broom.'_

The first broom arrived; Black handed it to him. A colour varying charm turned it blue. At Black's raised eyebrow, he explained: 'Camouflage. Less visible from below.' He did the same with Potters broom, dropped disillusionment spells on both of them, mounted and was away. From above, the blue would be easily visible, less so from below.

Black was many things but not unintelligent and his guilt over what he had done to Lupin could be trusted to make him an ally, of sorts, at least in this.

Over the Forbidden Forest, having located a gap in the canopy, Snape ended their disillusionment and began to descend. 'Don't get too close, he warned. 'They can jump and some of them can throw webs.'

'What can?'

'Acromantulas.'

'There are Acromantulas down there?' Black had gone pale.

'Really? You didn't know about the colony?' Snape glanced up at him surprised. Evidently not. Perhaps the werewolf had been sufficiently aware to stay away from them, or perhaps the stag's instincts as a prey animal . . . Or perhaps they had been lucky.

'Stay up there and stay away from the gap.' A spider the size of a cat leapt for his face and was spell-batted into the trees below. From the gloom all around him, a soft chittering warned him how very not alone it had been. Snape glanced upwards at Black's grim face. He could only hope that the boy's sense of honour would not allow for betrayal. A cutting spell encouraged Black to move further away and provided a small branch that he caught from the air. A few moments work turned it into a bag. He was still fiddling with it, pretending distraction, when behind him something moved.

Spinning, he fired off another cutting spell and darted aside. He was summoning the spider's head even as he shot upwards. Moments later, it was in the bag.

The other wizard's eyes were wide. Below them the decapitated remains, probably weighing more than he did, swung back and forth gently until, from below the canopy, many, many threads drifted, sparkling, towards the body, sticking to it and started to pull it towards the hidden swarm. They would be hungry too. 'There's a hiding place in the clock,' he told the other boy, as his heart rate began to approach normal. 'Left hand side facing it. Door to the gearing.'

Black took in a deep breath. 'Shelf above the door?' he enquired.

Snape thrust the bag at him. 'Hide it there. You'll also need to take back the brooms and repair the window in the tower.'

'Got that.' Snape disillusioned them both and flew back towards the castle.

In the hospital wing, an open window was just wide enough; he flew in and dismounted onto the top of a cupboard that ran along the wall underneath. When he held out the broom, an invisible hand took it from him. 'Who are you and what have you done with Severus Snape?'

'No name and shabby clothes. I was never real to you. Just a safe enemy for you to oppose while playing the hero.'

Snape could hear the other boy breathing. Silently, he dropped onto the floor. The broom was still hovering outside the window.

'Don't you have something to do?' Black left, Snape hoped, to carry out instructions.

He looked around. While Pomfrey was probably currently in her office, his absence might have been noticed so he took himself into the toilet before ending the disillusionment.

If the Aurors were coming directly here, they wouldn't be long.

.


	4. deception

The soft hiss of water through the pipes alerted Madame Pomfrey who came out from her office to discover him on his way out of the toilet. 'Mr. Snape. How are you feeling now?' she asked. He stopped and, throat working, stared at the floor saying nothing. 'Right. I'm going to give you something a bit stronger. Best you be getting into bed.'

'Not the blue. It makes me itch, ' he told her before obediently getting back into bed and pulling up the covers.

'I'll get you the green. If you are intending healing as a career, you may be aware that side effects are possible.'

'Disinhibition. Dizziness. Possible visual disturbance. Yes.'

Half a glass of the disgusting stuff later, he lay down. Side effects or no, the brew was effective. Pain didn't apply to him; he felt as if he was floating. The Aurors entered, surprisingly quietly for Aurors and, he noted, they were alone.

'Madame Pomfrey, good morning said the taller, bald one. We just need a word with your charge Mr. Snape.'

Pomfrey moved to intercept them. The shorter one, seeing what she was carrying, stepped around her and, the recreational effects of this particular potion being well known to the forces of Law and Order, hit Snape with a silent cheering charm while her back was turned.

Euphoria swept through him, mostly due to the potion, but also satisfaction. The known disinhibiting effect of the charm-potion combination meant that no one would now expect anything but the truth. Butterflies that might or might not have been there drifted in through the windows. The taller Auror sat down on his bed.

Snape goggled at him.

'We need to know what happened to you last night, Mr. Snape.'

'His Head of House isn't present,' Pomfrey protested.

'Slytherin's Head of House is entirely useless,' opined Snape. 'And he looks like a walrus.'

The Auror smiled. 'So,' he said, 'you don't mind us asking questions?' Snape watched the butterflies. Pomfrey checked the portrait of the mediwitch to find it empty: no help there. Nor could she appear to object too strongly. 'Mr Snape, where did you go last night?'

'What time last night?' asked Snape, contriving to sound exceedingly relaxed.

'When you went outside.'

'How did you know I went outside?' Now he sounded surprised. Pomfrey had gone pale.

'Mr. Snape, where did you go? When you went outside?'

He decided to tone it down before the healer interfered. 'Do you know the boggy bit? You know? Where the water all . . .drains down from the forest?'

'Turn right, follow along the lakeside past the sand spit?'

'Bit further than that.'

'How much further?'

Snape appeared to be attempting to focus. 'Past, you know, the big boulders.'

Pomfrey's hand came up in horror. That particular bit of wetland, some considerable distance from the castle, could swallow a horse. 'That's a bog, Mr. Snape,' she hissed 'It's very, very dangerous. You were on a broom?'

Turning to face her, he toppled over. 'Don't have a broom,' he said, muffled, face down in on the bed. Between them, the Aurors and the healer got him back the right way up. Pomfrey packing pillows in behind him.

'Mr Snape,' she said stiffly, 'that area is off limits even during the day.'

'It's not off limits. It's the Forbidden Forest that's forbidded . . .en. No one said . . nothing at all about Forbidden Boggy Bits.'

'You have to go through the forest to get there!'

'No, you don't.' This in his best smug voice. 'Rockslides.'

'And you were attacked? The tall Auror was back to asking questions.

He had indeed, only the previous month, been attacked. Very few magical plants enjoyed being collected. 'Fought it off.'

'You escaped?'

'Didn't have to.'

The Aurors exchanged looks. Snape's wand flashed up and there was an almighty clatter and as all manner of ironmongery flew across the room and embedded itself into the cupboard beneath the nearest window. Chains linking the individual elements swung. The wood of the cupboard doors proved not to be up to the challenge, split and fell forward with a crash.

'What was that?'

'_Cannonade_, it's a sort of a . . . kitchen sink spell?' The door opened and Albus Dumbledore swept in.

The shorter Auror glanced aside and then continued with the questioning. 'I don't think I know that one, Mr. Snape.'

'I made it. It's not finished yet.'

The one sitting on the bed got up. 'You made that spell, Mr. Snape.'

'It's not finished yet,' said Snape defensively.

'Did it . . . kill it?'

'What do you think?'

'And the body?'

'It was a bog. Things sink in bogs. Metal is heavy.'

'Ok. Could you find it?'

'Probably not. There's things in that bog.'

'How about the metal stuff?'

'Things. In the bog.'

'I see.' There had been a plot but the Aurors struggling to hold onto it. 'Well, look . . . Well done, lad. Well done. The thing is, we're sorry, but, if you've been bitten by a werewolf, you're going to have to come with us.'

'Werewolf?' said Snape, blinking up owlishly. 'Who said anything about a werewolf?'

'I beg your pardon? Didn't you say you were attacked?'

'Yes. I was attacked by an an anacromantula.'

They were now regarding him as though he was some sort of dangerous beastie himself. 'I don't suppose that you have any way of proving that it was an acromantula that attacked you?'

'Got the head.'

'Ok.' The Aurors exchanged glances. 'Could we see the head?'

The door opened and Slughorn eased himself in.

'No.'

'Why not?'

'Because it's worth eight galleons and he'll confiscate it.'

The Aurors regarded Slughorn. 'Why would he do that?'

'Because it's valuable. Venom. Teeth. Eyes. Hair. Fluids. Brain. Even the carapace. Properly dissected, fifteen or more, depending on the amount of venom. He'll take it. It's what he does when he doesn't like you.'

'We're Aurors. We can see that that doesn't happen.'

"Can, not will," Snape noted.

'So, will you tell us where it is?'

'Got it stashed,' said Snape, resignedly, climbing out of bed and staggering a little.

'A moment,' interjected Dumbledore. 'Tippy!' the elf popped in beside him. 'I want you to fetch something for Mr. Snape here, if you wouldn't mind?' Tippy nodded enthusiastically.

One hand steadying himself on the bed, Snape crouched down and placed his other arm around her shoulder, glanced at Slughorn, then got up and led the elf over to the doors before bending down and whispering instructions. Moments later she was back, holding the bag well away from herself. It was dripping slightly.

'That's a restricted item,' was Slughorn's comment on confirmation of the contents. 'Several, in fact.' Snape had drifted over to the broken cupboard. He bent down and pulled one of the doors upright. One side of it being stuck full of heavy, sharp metal objects, as soon as he let go, it dropped with a crash. Now they were all watching him, so he abandoned it and wandered off to gaze innocently out of the open window.

'It's worth eight Galleons,' the tall Auror was saying. 'We assured the lad it wouldn't just be taken from him.'

'Fifteen,' interrupted Snape from his new perch, sitting swinging his legs, on top of the cupboard.

'Eight in its current state,' adjudged Dumbledore. He turned to Slughorn. 'I'm sure the budget can spare eight galleons.'

'I'll see that he gets it,' agreed Slughorn, the look he gave Snape promised detention in the very near future, possibly involving arachnid dissection and preparation. Snape stopped swinging his legs. As the agreement was concluded, he spun round and threw himself out of the window. Below him a short leaden promontory formed the roof of a structure that, its original purpose long superseded, still clung like a barnacle to the castle wall. There was a scream from above, a thump as he landed and more screams from below, telling him that the niche had not been empty.

'Wake up!' he yelled cheerfully, tottering round to face the windows, wobbling and sticking one foot out to the side to balance. 'I'll just be a moment and then I'll come right back up.'

He conjured a tilted ladder that promptly fell over. A puzzled expression on his face, he watched as it slid off the roof.

'Golpalott's Green,' he could hear Pomfrey explaining. 'And I think a cheering charm might be involved. He's as high as a kite.'

He gave her a wave, dropped to his knees and began investigating a glistening ridge of sempervivum that had originally inveigled itself into the juncture of the roof and wall and was spreading outwards from there. He knew that the thing was vicious. And sly. In his former life it had only been noticed when, like some shoggoth on the roof, it had tried to abduct a first year from the sunlit alcove below. If a combined rush of owls and kneazles hadn't raised the alarm and weighed the child down long enough for help to arrive, it might have succeeded.

Unfortunately, it was too late for discretion. Someone was trying to levitate him back up. A frantic grab with his left hand broke off a rosette of plant material that, aerial rootlets sliding beneath the bandages still covering his left forearm, immediately began to seek security and sustenance. 'Could someone call Madame Sprout?' he enquired, plaintively, as he was swung back in through the window. 'Only, I think it's a bit more voracious than the usual kind.' An Auror shut the window behind him.

'What is?' asked Dumbledore, when, once again, Snape was propped up on the bed.

'This: Sempervivum Hexica,' said Snape waving it, 'is not a native British plant. I am very surprised to see it this far north. Useful in all sorts of things. And growing outdoors? Forget fifteen galleons. This is valuable.' He winced. There was no pain. Even if he wasn't doped to the gills, there wouldn't be. Just the relentless, soft pressure of roots invading flesh until consciousness vanished and non-vegetal life ceased. He could feel roots under his skin, pushing into the muscle beneath. 'And it needs to go into a pot as soon as possible.' He vanished the bandage on his arm. Pomfrey drew a sharp breath and sprang into action. Snape took one look at his arm and looked away to discover Slughorn approaching with an acquisitive mien. Snape considered the angles and summoned a plant pot and then, for good measure, dragon manure. Then, as he already knew how to discourage the invader, he hit the edge of the root system with a stinging hex. The plant twitched and shifted slightly.

Seconds later the window shattered as the plant pot flew through it and struck Slughorn between the shoulder blades. It was empty and fairly small. Even so, a lighter man might have been knocked over. As it was, he was just rocking back upright when the fertilizer arrived. There was a splattering as most was stopped by the windows. Snape's shield spell protected Madame Pomfrey and himself. Slughorn stood there dripping. 'If nobody actually requires my assistance?' he said and took the flue back to his rooms.

By the time the Houseleek of Horrors, as it had been labelled it had been lured from his arm and into the pot, there was no telling what the original wounds might have looked like.

Very quickly, the Aurors decided to leave before anyone thought to take them to task for the cheering charm. Pomfrey continued to mutter under her breath, all the while applying potions, salves and bandages. Sprout, who had followed the gardening supplies, was crooning almost musically as she ensured that her newest little darling was both comfortable and constrained. Dumbledore's blue eyes fixed upon him with the faintest trace of a twinkle. 'Mr. Snape,' he said, 'I believe that, when you are feeling better, we shall be having a chat.'

'Probably want to have a look at what's still out on the roof, murmured Snape. Madame Pomfrey glanced warily towards the broken window. In Madame Sprout's eyes, fires kindled. 'Maybe hide it from Slughorn,' he suggested.

Giving Dumbledore a dismissive wave, he closed his eyes and went to sleep.


	5. bunnies

_Brightness outside lights the entrance to the cave. A boat's length beyond it, the world is dissolved into mist. There's a nasty chop on the surface of the Black Lake and an echoing slap of water on stone. The little harbour beneath Hogwarts is empty apart from himself and the boy standing, huddled in on himself, at the bottom of the steps. He knows that he is dreaming. Although he would much rather head upwards into the sanctuary of the castle, he takes a step down and then another. Closer, he takes in the worn boots and too-short trousers, the ragged cloak clutched tightly about him, the boy turns and Snape meets his own black eyes. This is the child whose place he has stolen._

'_I'll give it back,' he promises. 'I will find a way to give you back your life. Just as soon as I've found a way to stop the Dark Lord.' The boy, Severus, is still staring up at him. He appears to be in shock. 'I'll warn Dumbledore about . . .' Rage flares across the young face as the boy's chin comes up to reveal that his throat is missing. The cloak falls aside to uncover a bloodied mess with bare ribs protruding. _

Snape woke up in the Hospital Wing.

'Sorry to wake you,' said Pomfrey, 'but I need to take a look at your arm, and you need to eat something. How does it feel now?' He sat up and she began to stuff pillows behind him.

'It's fine Madame Pomfrey,' he told her, mentally pushing aside the nightmare. 'It doesn't even itch.'

The bandages came off to show new skin: hairless, shiny and unblemished and the healer sighed with satisfaction. 'We won't know for certain until the next full moon, but that is certainly encouraging,' she said, conjuring a chair and sitting down. 'Professor Dumbledore and I have been talking,' she said, looking him in the eye. 'How serious were you in your desire to study medicine?'

'Very. Saint Mungo's have a bursary, although I'd probably need a recommendation which I won't be receiving from Slughorn. And I was attacked by an acromantula.'

'Bright eyes charm,' said Pomfrey, sounding slightly apologetic. 'Followed by Banishing, Summoning, Vanishing, several Bandaging spells and a Finite. That was before you were brought in last night. When I removed the dressing, the wound was consistent with an immediately cleaned werewolf bite. Then there was the sequence of spells you used in the Hospital wing early this morning. Followed by a cutting hex, transfiguration to turn a branch into a bag, Banishing, Cutting, Summoning. You were heard returning through the window. Finally, that Cannonade spell of yours, the conjuration of a ladder and two more Summonings.

There really wasn't much that he could say in the face of her succinct recitation of events. 'Golpalotts Grey can indeed cause itching,' continued Pomfrey, 'but you've never complained before. This morning, I gave you a potion known to cause disinhibition and the Aurory obligingly provided a cheering charm. You put on a performance, Mr. Snape.'

There was only one answer to that. 'What would have happened if I had not?'

'You did not have to throw yourself out of the window.'

'It did serve to put the Aurors on a back foot.'

'You could have killed yourself!'

'Unlikely. And again, what would have happened if I had failed to persuade them regarding the nature of my injury?'

'It would, indeed, have been unfortunate,' pronounced Dumbledore, apparently having materialised from nowhere. Snape cursed in silence. The wizard had to have been there before he awoke, his aura, blended into the magical overspill of the fireplace, unnoticed. Such inattention could get him killed. 'And I am not ungrateful.' The Headmaster conjured his own chair and sat down. Snape observed him impassively. 'Hogwarts has not taught Medicine for a long time but has not yet given up the right to do so. Your birthday being in January, we can arrange for you to have some qualifications in place before you leave school.'

'What qualifications?' Snape met the expected brush of legilimancy with curiosity.

'I think, perhaps, that that should be for you to choose. Term ends in a fortnight but, if you were to return here in a little under a month that would allow us to sort things out properly,' said Dumbledore. 'You should probably warn your parents that you might be required to stay overnight, if that is agreeable?' "If, for example, you happen to turn into a werewolf," went unsaid. Snape nodded stiffly. 'I find myself obliged to agree with Mr. Black. You are not at all the person that I had thought you to be.'

Snape allowed a sick rage to rise before suppressing it clumsily. 'Because I'm not a fool? The Dark Lord's minions believe that they own Slytherin. Nothing is ever done to disabuse them of that notion. Why would a dirt-poor half-blood risk inviting their attention?' Now the legilimancy was coloured with shame. It withdrew.

'I had thought that you might have welcomed it. I apologise.'

'Then do something. And do something about Slughorn.'

The accursed twinkle was back. 'You don't consider the short shower of . . . plant food sufficient?'

'Not remotely.'

'Slughorn is an excellent teacher and a popular Head of House.'

'Slughorn is a disastrous Head of Slytherin. He has his "Slug Club. He has no shortage of time for his own cossetted favourites. He leaves the House to run itself which means that the biggest bullies carve it into their own little fiefdoms. Slytherins learn quickly to make themselves useful to someone prepared to protect them or go down. For some time now, the biggest bullies have belonged to the Dark Lord.' The Headmaster looked unconvinced. 'You should stop blaming the victims. If to be sorted Slytherin is to be damned, it is because you have allowed the situation to arise.'

The old wizard got to his feet, beginning to turn away. 'We can talk later, when you are feeling better.'

'They have already begun to demand the brewing of potions from me.

Dumbledore stopped dead.

'It is fortunate, Headmaster, that the lower years are generally regarded as useless. I have recently been informed that I need to decide where my loyalties lie.' Disconcerted, the old wizard turned back to face him. 'Unless that person also has power, anyone in possession of intelligence does well, in Slytherin, to hide that fact in order to avoid becoming a commodity. Granted that I am an outlier in that I could already pass most of my NEWTs, I am forced to wonder how many other children are wasting their potential, keeping their heads down, pretending stupidity? Slytherin is known for ambition. How many more will hand themselves to the Dark Lord for protection and a little bit of recognition. Why do you continue to hand innocent children over to the enemy?'

Pomfrey scrambled to her feet as if to escape the line of fire. Dumbledore, wand in his hand, took a deep breath. 'Transfiguration,' suggested the healer. 'Could you pass your transfiguration NEWT?'

'Yes,' said Snape.

She tossed him a pillow from the next bed. 'White rabbit,' she said.

Snape turned the pillow into a rabbit. Its red eyes blinked up at him. For good measure, he transfigured all of the pillows that he could see into rabbits. Pomfrey's eyes widened in horror. 'Turn them back!'

He tried. It was just unfortunate that the bunnies did not want to be turned back. When Snape raised his wand, they scarpered. A general Finite got some of them but most evaded and took cover. Snape got out of bed to help locate and revert them only to be tripped and run down by the furry hoard. He forced his head and shoulders ups through squirming bodies to discover red eyes and sharp teeth in an inchoate mass of fluff. Like something out of Lovecraft, all it needed was a tentacle or two and it was beginning to growl. Snape tried desperately not to laugh.

The rabbits had the headmaster surrounded, those nearest chewing at his robes and beard and then they attacked - a wave of leaping, red eyed, white surged upwards only to be repelled by an expanding blue sphere of light. Bunnies flying in all directions, Snape ducked. Dumbledore waved the Elder wand and there was a sudden silence as the growling stopped.

Pillows falling lightly aside, Snape began to get up. A soft thump, as the doors to the corridor met, caught everyone's attention. Pomfrey's hand flew to her mouth. 'I think some of them might have escaped into the rest of the school,' she said. Her wand flashed and the pillows flew back to the beds from which they had come. There were a lot more of them than there had been. When she pushed open the door, the corridor was deserted. 'Oh dear.'

Snape turned around to discover that the Headmaster had regained his seat. 'You must be very angry with me,' he said softly.

'I am angry about all the bullying,' countered Snape. 'And I don't think _that _would have happened if Hogwarts didn't agree.'

The Headmaster eyeing him sharply: Snape thought about being guided away from trouble and about being summoned to the Astronomy Tower. About actually sitting with and helping Black all the while wondering what the hell was wrong with him. Judging from the diagnostic spells that the Headmaster had started throwing his way, he wasn't the only one interested in an answer but, whatever Dumbledore made of the results, he chose to keep his own counsel, turning instead to a close questioning regarding advanced elements of Transfiguration, Runes, Arithmancy and Potions.

Madame Pomfrey went away and, after a while, came back and went away again. She returned with her mouth in a tight line to fix Dumbledore with a gimlet stare. The Headmaster looked up at her warily. 'I will remind you that Mr. Snape has not eaten today,' she said.

'Ah yes.' Dumbledore stood up. 'My apologies to you both. Perhaps we should discuss exactly what you will be doing next year when you return in a month's time Mr. Snape? I wish you both a goodnight.'

Moments later a lap tray snapped into place across the bed: on it, a large covered platter held a selection of food from dinner. Snape was surprised to discover that he was hungry.

* * *

(As 'Monty Python and the Holy Grail' only came out in April 1975, references to the 'Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog' as still a little premature).


	6. controlling the narrative

'Actually,' Snape said brightly, 'I think I might have done them a favour.'

The small group of Slytherin upper years tried to cogitate his response and failed. 'How d'you reckon that, then?' While they were entirely happy about the Griffindors' discomfiture at the hands of one of their own, the self-styled "Marauders" were purebloods and Snape was not.

'They're missing their exams.'

'You got them sent down you prat!'

'And they'll be right back up after the summer.' Innocently, Snape observed the seismic shifting of attitudes. While most of the effort had been concentrated upon him, there had been no shortage to go around for the rest of the house. 'Dumbledore?' It really wasn't fair, he decided. In a battle of wits, this lot were unarmed. 'They were swearing, upon Hogwarts itself, that they were up to no good,' he reminded them. 'And every time they did, the magic got stronger and they got worse. Who knows what they might have done in the end? Or, indeed, to whom?' Sometimes it was just a matter of controlling the narrative. 'It had nothing to do with me,' he assured them. 'More that the Headmaster's golden boys were proven to be liars, cowards and fools.'

Judicious nodding, an admonition to: 'Watch yourself, halfy,' and away they did go.

Snape shook his head. Had they always been such idiots? He could, of course, have cursed the lot of them but probably not without drawing unwanted attention.

'Mr. Snape.'

Turning, he eyed his Head of House coolly. 'Professor Slughorn.'

'Detention.'

'For?'

'How about the poor state of your attire?' His Head of House sneered at him. 'Tonight . . .'

'Tonight, Madame Pomfrey will be expecting me in the Hospital wing regarding an apprenticeship,' he explained, sounding apologetic. 'I am to make myself available up until the start of exams.' The colour Slughorn was turning really could not be healthy. Perhaps he should bring it up with the Matron.

'Very well. Once Madame Pomfrey has finished with you, you may report to Mr. Filch.'

'I see.' Because as well as promoting his favourites, the Head of Slytherin had no problem sabotaging those he did not like. 'For how long?'

'For as long as he has use for you, boy. Until term ends.'

'As you wish.'

Slughorn put the lack of consequences arising from his predation on the school's food and potions budgets down to his own importance rather than the relative unimportance of minor embezzlement and the Headmaster's lack of time. He would discover otherwise, if Snape had his way.

.

'What happened?' Lily, wide-eyed and with an entire gaggle of Gryffindors in tow. 'We heard Slughorn got covered in dragon dung!' Snape put a finger to his lips. They were in a library, after all.

And then they weren't.

Really, he thought, Madame Pince might have said something about a lone Slytherin being abducted from her domain by a pack of Gryffindors. Even if it was being done quietly. The doors swung shut behind them.

'Spill!'

He waited until they had tipped him upright and stood him upon his feet. 'I'm fine, by the way, Lily.'

'Madame Sprout told Madame Hooch!' broke in McDonald, unable to restrain herself.

Madame Sprout had an earthy sense of humour and little use for tact. She had even less for potioneers who helped themselves leaving footprints in the flower beds and delicate plants trampled underfoot. She would have been only too pleased to tell anyone who'd listen.

'Of course, you're fine,' said Lily. 'You're indestructible. Everybody knows that. What happened?'

'My clothes are not.'

'_Reparo!'_ The rent they had made in his sleeve closed but then opened again_. 'Reparo!_ Why isn't it working?

'That spell returns an item to an earlier undamaged state. The more often it's used, the further in time from that state, the harder it becomes. _Reparo!_' This time the spell took but Lily's flushed enthusiasm had subsided, her green eyes filled with sudden sorrow by the realisation that Snape had to have been repairing his clothing rather frequently.

'Are you alright, Severus? Really?'

'Really.' He grimaced. 'For failure to adhere to standards regarding school uniform, courtesy of Slughorn, I have detention during exams and until the end of term.'

'That's not fair!'

'That and the dragon dung.' He was surrounded by cheering.

'But what about your exams? said Lily.

'I only have to pass them. Owls aren't until next year.'

'Is he allowed to do that?' asked McDonald.

'As far as he's concerned, who's to stop him? Don't worry about it. I shan't.'

'So, tell us what happened,' McDonald insisted.

'Some potions have side effects,' he began. 'Golpallot's Green, in particular, is noted for its disinhibiting effect. I refused to tell them where I'd hidden the head until someone agreed to pay for it.'

'What head?'

'The acromantula's head. You might remember my bleeding over the carpet in your common room.'

'How the hell did you get in?' demanded one of the pack surrounding him.

Snape smirked.

'Never mind that, for now,' said McDonald. 'We want to know about what happened to Slughorn.'

'I noticed an interesting plant on the roof below and, being completely compos mentis, leapt out of the window to fetch it. By the time they got me back in, it had rooted itself in my arm. Hoping to lure it off me, I summoned a pot and some fertilizer. The pot hit him right between the shoulders. As there was rather a lot of stuff inbound, I shielded myself and Pomfrey. Slughorn didn't see it coming.

'And received a short sharp shower of shit,' crowed another of the pack.

'He wasn't best pleased.'

Lily had hold of his arm. 'Then it wasn't your fault. Severus, you could have fallen.'

'But I didn't.' For a moment he let his hand rest on hers. 'I'm fine, Lily.'

She was a beautiful child and he had a Dark Lord to take down.

.

'Wipe your feet.'

The Ravenclaw quidditch team stopped in the doorway. 'Or you'll do what?'

The full mop bucket rose to hover threateningly in mid-air. 'This isn't, as you might think, make-work,' explained Snape. 'Hogwarts largely looks after itself. Mundane cleaning reinforces the idea that cleanliness is what is required. With you traipsing in half the quidditch pitch, the castle may well conclude that we are attempting to start a greenhouse in here.'

'Bollocks.' One of the Ravenclaws attempted to walk around Snape only to be intercepted by the mop.

'Also, you will find Hogwarts to be more helpful when treated with respect. Actually, why not treat it as an experiment? You have a lot of moving staircases between here and your common room. Try wiping your feet.'

'You're that Snape.'

'I am Severus Snape.'

'You covered your Head of House in fermented dragon shit.'

'Only partially.'

'You got the marauders expelled.'

'I did not. They were sent home following exposure to a dark artefact.'

'So we heard. But you were there?'

'Wipe your feet.'

They wiped their feet and waited expectantly.

'They had a map of the castle showing the whereabouts of everyone in it activated by the phrase "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good" and deactivated by '"Mischief managed.'

A low whistle and murmurs of 'Sympathetic magic' and 'Nasty' were followed by the inevitable 'Where'd they get it?'

'I'm afraid that you will have to ask them.'

The Ravenclaws departed. About halfway up, as stair after stair swung to meet them and they discovered that he'd been right, the cursing started. Snape smiled as he gave the mop a final rinse and leant on it to squeeze out the water. Filch emerged from around a corner. 'You've saved yourself a nice lot of mopping,' he said. 'How did you know that? About the cleaning?'

'Only logical, really. How's the list?'

'What list?'

'The summer repairs list. I assume you'd be the person in charge of that?'

The old man straightened. 'I am,' he said. 'Actually, a younger pair of eyes couldn't hurt. Leave that and follow me.'


	7. maintenance

Over the window there? See that?

Snape looked up. 'A shadow?'

'Here,' said Filch. A battered set of omnioculars was proffered and accepted.

Snape didn't actually need them, of course. Knowing the old caretaker and his fixations from his previous life, he could guess. 'I see it,' he said. 'Looks like mould.'

'It is mould,' pronounced Filch, with grim satisfaction. 'What are we going to do about it?'

'We're on the uppermost floor, directly under the roof,' Snape mused, looking upwards. 'We should check up in the roof space. Probably continuous over this classroom and the corridor. There's more headroom over the corridor and . . . ', he stuck his head out of the door to check, '. . . a panelled ceiling. Probably a hatch in one of the corners.'

'Phipps!' said Filch, and the elf appeared, practically vibrating with excitement. 'What we require is a ladder.' The elf reappeared with an extendible wooden ladder. 'On you go, lad.'

Hogwarts was already letting him know the location of the access point. In order not to appear too knowledgeable, he chose the wrong area, paused and then, seizing hold of a rung, began to climb.

'Stop!' snarled Filch. 'Not like that. You're doing it wrong. Suppose one of the rungs is rotten and breaks. Hands on the sides of the ladder.' His back to the other man, smirking only slightly, Snape complied. 'Course, if the sides are rotten, you're out of luck,' Filch added.

Climbing, Snape remembered:_ the children hadn't taken long to catch on. _

'_Please don't send us to Mr. Filch. Not Mr. Filch.' And such wonderfully woebegone faces. Because detention with the old caretaker had never once involved the Forbidden Forest, weapons grade baked goods or the drool and terrifying flatulence that resulted from Fang, Hagrid's boarhound, (yet again,) stealing and eating something he should not have. Of course, the Carrows had immediately sent them to Filch for detention where Snape later discovered them, huddled by the fireside, drinking tea. While the caretaker might have been prepared to make an exception for certain Weasleys, these being unavailable, the old instruments of torture had remained, polished to a shine, upon the wall. _

'_They didn't do anything,' Filch protested. They oughtn't to be punished. Otherwise, what's the point?'_

'_If you say so, Mr. Filch.' He had smirked. 'Madame Pomphrey is having problems keeping her potions cupboard stocked, inasmuch as things keep going . . . missing. I would like you to assist her, Mr. Filch.'_

_Wide eyes watched from the fireside. 'I can do that,' grudged Mr. Filch. And he had. Yet more stuff had gone . . . missing, to the point that Filch had taken up watch outside the Hospital wing. 'No one gets past me, Mr. Carrow!' _

_Hearing this, Madame Pomphrey finished levitating pain relief potions out through the window, relocked the cupboard with the key that she had found that morning and then vanished it. _

_Invisible, outside the window, Snape smiled._

For their casual injustice, for having magic and using it to injure children, the old squib had despised the Carrows. It was just as well that they had been such oblivious fools.

At the top of the ladder, Snape pushed at, and failed to move, the wrong panel. He could see no reason not to use a spell such as "Leviosa" but, during multiple detentions over the last ten days, Filch had made it clear that he did not approve of any magic applied to the Hogwarts structure. 'Everything is connected to everything else,' the old squib had grumbled. 'That's the reason they can't fix that trick step. Last time they tried; the Bridge developed cracks you could put your hand in.' Hands on the ladder's sides, Snape climbed back down.

Smirking, Filch pointed out the correct panel. Phipps moved the ladder and Snape ascended. This time the hatch moved easily up into the roof space and Snape set it down to one side.

'And now you might be thinking to just boost yourself up there,' said Filch from below, 'except that you have got to get back down again, after.'

Again, Snape climbed down. Filtch extended the ladder right up into the access hatch. 'Far enough so you have something to hold onto,' he said, before, himself, climbing up. 'Wait until I'm off the ladder before you get on.'

In the roof space, the caretaker hung a lantern from a bent nail before pulling what looked like a muggle torch from his pocket to examine the timber over his head. 'Wood's wet,' he reported on touching it before pulling an awl from his pocket and pushing the point in a little way. 'Still solid, though. Phipps, we'll be needing a board.'

Snape had spent the better part of half an hour, mostly flat on his back, but occasionally on his stomach, on a wooden board set over the rafters in odd corners of the roof probing the ancient timbers for rot when Phipps, appeared on a smaller board, beside him. 'Why is we stabbing the roof?' the elf whispered.

'Too many years of incompetent wand-work,' Snape answered. 'Unformed magic bleeding into the structure. Detection spells aren't always reliable. Hence mundane methods. If the wood's rotten, the awl goes in easily.' 'Here, you try. This bit here where it's sound and this other bit where it isn't.'

'Soft, like butter,' murmured Phipps. 'Not good at all.'

Years of working with elves had left Snape in no doubt regarding what an enthusiastic individual could achieve, and he had learned how not to misdirect them. 'The holes weaken it further, so we make just enough to give us the information we need.' Work continued faster.

As Filch reckoned up figures in his notebook, they heard muffled giggling. The caretaker closed the book and stowed it in his coat, ducked under a beam and raised a hatch. 'Should you be in that broom cupboard?' A scream. Banging. Running feet. Filch dropped the hatch and straightened. 'Later on, they'll come back and try to get in here and they won't succeed because neither one of them is Caretaker of Hogwarts. We'll look at the leadwork next.'

Twisty passages and steep steps brought them to an oddity. 'Came off an old warship,' explained Filch. 'Not even the winds and the weather up here can touch it.' He spun the wheel at the centre, causing metal dogs at the sides to retract from the frame, and then pushed. The heavy door swung back on its curious hinges. 'Professor Dumbledore acquired it after the previous one made its way own down one night and broke in through a window.' He stepped over the sill and Snape followed only to stop dead. 'Beautiful, isn't it.'

The view was breath-taking. The outer walls of the castle bathed in the last of the sunlight, the cliff face and, below, the still water of the Black Lake reflecting the evening sky. 'They come over on boats and it's all "Oohs" and "Aahs" and then they forget. Treat the school like it's nothing special at all, like it isn't . . .'

'Sacred'.

Filch glanced at him sharply and then, when he realised that Snape wasn't taking the piss, softened. 'Sacred,' he agreed. 'There was teaching going on here long before the Founders built the castle. Here, I'll show you something.' He ducked back into the building.

'What about the leadwork?' Snape asked.

'I'll fly up with the carpet once the little buggers are safely back home and not writing home to mummy and daddy about us not obeying the rules. Ministry rules don't apply at Hogwarts except where we've agreed to it.' Filch smirked. 'Professor Dumbledore says not to remind them.'

More twisty passages and an ancient ladder, rungs worn thin by use, took them up into a wide shadowy space that echoed. 'Watch where you're putting your feet,' warned Filch.

'Lumos,' said Snape. In the darkness something reflected the light. Carefully he moved closer. A silver sphere, taller than himself, was cradled in beautifully carved woodwork built into the structure of the roof

'Turn off the light.'

Snape obeyed only to see ahead of him, in the sphere, the first stars of the evening. 'The ceiling in the Great Hall,' Filch explained. 'No one knows how it works. It was made by goblins as a gift. See there? That's goblin writing. It says: 'for Rowena, for Godric, for Helga, for Salazar, all in a circle round it. See, there's a badger and there's a snake. Even some of the Headmasters didn't know about this.'

Snape knelt to take a closer look. He heard a sharp breath behind him. 'That's odd,' said Filch.

'What's that?'

'The tarnish. It's gone. Every now and again, might be twenty or thirty, forty years, it tarnishes and that's how we know it's time to get in touch with Gringotts. I thought . . . But look at it. It's pristine. Hang on. I took a photograph.' He made his way back to the ladder. 'Whenever you're ready.' Snape followed down another route through Hogwarts that he had not known existed, via a panel near the main staircase on the third floor, into Filch's windowless little cubby hole.

The caretaker shut the door behind them. 'The other door is over here,' he said.

It hadn't been there a moment before, but it was there now, revealing the 'office' to be no more than an entry way equipped with filing cabinets and furniture. Opposite was a tiny garden, to one side a sitting room, to the other a workroom. Three tall windows cast light onto a wide desk and a map table; shelving held boxes and books of all sizes. 'This is the other "Book of Hogwarts". It's how we keep track of the maintenance this place requires. You know, there never used to be fewer than three of us. One learning, one doing, one remembering but then they were killed in the fighting and only one person was brought in to replace them: we had to start writing things down. Over here: repairs forthcoming.' Ferreting through a filing cabinet produced a worksheet with a photograph clipped to it. Filch sat down at the desk. 'Headmaster advised. No response, as yet.' Yellow fingernails tapped teeth. I don't think . . . At least, I'm not aware of that happening before. Not with . . .'

'Good evening, Argus.'

Speak of the devil, thought Snape.


	8. repair

'Professor Dumbledore, good evening.'

'Mr. Snape?'

Intonation and a raised eyebrow invited explanation, even exculpation, but the old caretaker was too invested in the matter of the missing tarnish to feel guilty. 'Glad you're here. Something peculiar has happened.'

'Indeed?'

'Look at this.' The work sheet with its attached photograph was thrust into the headmaster's hands. 'We've just been up there and it's shining. Pristine. Something's going on.'

'Good evening Mr. Snape. Have you then decided to forego a career in medicine?'

The tone invited him to say something about his assisting the caretaker. Something insulting. Legilimancy raked at him. A picture of a dark-haired boy that Dumbledore had known years before. A boy that had charmed Hogwarts's staff. 'Not at all,' Snape replied. 'It's just been fascinating. Learning about Hogwarts. I'm beginning to think that Slughorn did me a favour.'

'I beg your pardon?'

'Assigning me detention, until the end of term, with Mr. Filch. I have seen so much more. You know, most students at Hogwarts have no idea. It's just a school to them.'

'Not during exams. A misunderstanding, perhaps.'

'I had doubts about it myself but here's the note,' said Filch, extracting it from a drawer and handing it over.

'I see,' conceded Dumbledore. 'I'll have a word with him. Consider it cancelled. Good night, Mr. Snape.'

Strongly inclined to wait and listen, Snape left the doors to the workroom open behind him and opened the one to the corridor. He nearly tripped over it. 'Mr. Filch!' Dropping to his knees he began to syphon rusty orange liquid away from the little cat, scarcely more than a kitten 'Mr. Filch!'

She was a mess. Blood. Blisters. Eyelids half stuck with something still clinging to her remaining fur. _'Aguamenti'_ on a few drops of the liquid on the floor caused them to explode. 'Get her to the hospital wing, 'Wrap her in your coat.' He took off running.

'Madame Pomphrey!' Wineglass in hand, the mediwitch emerged from her lair, closely followed by Madame Sprout. 'We need a neutralising solution.'

Pomphrey shot back into her office, put down the wineglass and opened the cupboard. A tall bottle from a lower shelf had barely a splash in it. Her face blanked just as the door from the corridor burst open. 'Professor Slughorn will have some.' She strode to the floo. 'Potion master's quarters.' Green light flared.

Good luck with that, thought Snape. A meeting of the slug club had been scheduled. When Pomphrey did find him, he wasn't likely to be entirely sober and he would need to fetch it from the potions supply cupboard. Assuming he had some. Right now, Snape needed something to reduce the magical efficacy of whatever the cat was covered in as well as the pain. Whatever . . . The smell had been reminiscent of Polyjuice. The rusty orange colour would suggest . . . interactions dancing with numbers in his head, almost absently he reached for skeligrow, bruise balm, the largest bowl on the shelf joined by more bottles. The arithmancy was off but it didn't need to be perfect, just better than doing nothing. Golpalott's green wasn't intended for cats but given what she was covered with . . . It all went into a dirty brown sludge that smelt of rot and burning rubber. Off. It was off but close. Just outside the envelope of possibility. 'Mr. Filch, would you have some catnip on you?

Reaching into his pocket, the caretaker produced a wilted handful of green. 'Use that to stir it. The arithmancy is just outside of it working. A minor ritual will shift things.'

His cat, still clutched in his other arm, Filch stepped closer. 'Just stir it?'

'And wish. You have to really want it to work.'

The potion should have lightened in colour. It didn't. If anything, the smell got worse. Filch was a squib, but Mrs. Norris was his familiar. It should have been working. Quite suddenly the solution came to him. 'Mr Filch, you can ask for help.' The caretaker looked at him. 'Hogwarts.'

Stirring faltered. Filch closed his eyes and breathed. As his hand again began moving, burnt rubber gave way to the scent of growing things after rain as the liquid in the bowl became as clear as water, if slightly thicker. Abruptly, the cat fought free of the coat and fell to land, front feet first, in the bowl. She flopped into the liquid. Lapped it up. Used her paws to smear it over her head. Filch's hands plunged in to help her. Snape could only stare in amazement.

'Just what went in there?' asked Dumbledore.

'I can write down what I put in it. I doubt it would be reproducible. It worked because Mr. Filch needed it to work.'

A reverberating rumble started up. Sitting in the bowl, Mrs. Norris was entirely ghastly. Mostly bald, with oversize bat-like ears. Her skull had elongated. Spitting out teeth, she began to groom paws were at least three times the size they had been. Still, she was happy. Filch gazed at his hands. The usual knobbly, sore looking redness had gone. He picked up the bowl with the cat still in it and walked through to place it on the nearest bed. Then he closed the curtains around them. The noise was cut off as silencing spells engaged.

'If you wouldn't mind,' said Dumbledore.

The healer having not yet returned, he could not ask permission; Snape sat down at her desk. Curious as to exactly how long it would take for her to get back, he began to set down a full experimental report.

He was at the stage of trying to think what else to write when something pushed its way out through the curtains. He assumed that it was Mrs. Norris. Much taller and terribly thin, she opened her toothless maw and yowled at him. He got up and checked behind the curtain. Filch, clad only in his shirt and underpants was collapsed upon the floor beside the empty bowl. Behind them, fire flared green as Madame Pomphrey returned.

'Mr. Snape threw something together,' said Dumbledore.

Without even pausing to set down the bottle, Pomphrey began her diagnosis. When she had finished, she did the same for the cat. 'Biddy' she said. An elf appeared. 'Would you please fetch some food for Mrs. Norris. A lot of food. Water and her litter tray.' Using her wand, she pulled back the covers and levitated Filch into bed. 'He's exhausted. Other than that, he's in perfect health.' She drew the covers over him. Biddy reappeared, set a dish before the cat, shoved the litter tray under the bed and vanished again. The food disappeared almost as fast and then the cat leapt onto the bed and, squirming down under the covers, twisted to get comfortable before, apparently, going to sleep.

Dumbledore picked up and considered the report. 'How long have you been experimenting with potions, Mr. Snape.'

'I can't remember when I didn't. I used to help my mother. Sometimes we had to make do.'

'I see.' He set down the report only for Madame Pomphrey to immediately snatch it up again. His eyes twinkled. 'Thank you, young man. Very well done, indeed. However, it is rather late. Perhaps you should be getting back to your common room.'

'Oh, before you go,' broke in Sprout. 'You get to name the new variety of Sempervivum Hexica.'

'Name it for Hogwarts, Madame Sprout. As she had done when she had been the one to find it. The witch smiled.

'Goodnight,' said Snape and left. Outside the door, he disillusioned himself and leaning back into the comfort of the wall's time worn stone, let his eyes close. Only someone as familiar with the wizard as was Snape, would have seen the doubt, the wariness. Still, it decided him. He would not be telling the old man. Not until he had to. He was far too likely to find himself being obliviated. Especially if Dumbledore concluded that he had been using the diadem. I need to get to the Room of Requirement unobserved, he thought before falling suddenly backwards onto a wooden door. He turned around and opened it.

Never, in his life, could he have imagined that there could be so much junk in one place. Towering stacks of just about anything a person could think of filled a space larger than the Great Hall. Counting, as he went, he let Hogwarts lead him and when he looked up, it was there. Shining. Beautiful. Unbidden, his hand reached for it and then he was flying sideways into a heap of furniture and carpets that immediately collapsed on top of him.

Trapped in choking, dusty darkness, he struggled to reach his wand. 'Mr. Snape is not to be touching diadem,' came the muffled voice of Phipps, the house elf, disapproval evident.

'Fine. Get this lot off me.' As he sneezed, the weight came off. Light happened.

'Diadem is cursed,' said the elf.

'You knew about it? And didn't tell Dumbledore.'

'Headmaster never asked.'

'It can't stay cursed.'

'Not doing any harm in here.'

'You don't know that. What if it is?'

The elf considered. The curse on the Dark Arts position had actually been placed on the Special Award that Riddle had received and that would have to go too. It could wait though. It had already done its dirty work for this year. 'Can Mr. Snape fix it?'

'Sorry. Probably not without destroying it.' He sneezed again. 'I'm not a curse-breaker.' Not entirely true but the damned thing was outside of his experience and knowledge.

'Who is being curse-breaker?'

'Goblins mostly.'

'Goblins can fix?'

'If anyone.' Phipps gave him a handkerchief. He blew his nose and vanished the soiled cloth.

'Then Mr. Snape will take diadem to goblins.'

'Not to the Headmaster?'

'It is being the Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw.'

'And you fear he might destroy it?' The elf said nothing. 'Were you following me?'

'Headmaster said to watch and tell if doing anything suspicious. Is Mr. Snape doing anything suspicious?'

'Of course not.'

'Good. Phipps is very glad to hear it.' One small, long fingered hand went to his face. 'Goblins will be wanting paid. Money is going into Hogwarts's funds but other things valuable, elves can find. And now Mr. Snape be off to his bed.'

A small Field Marshal Kitchener atop a heap of junk, Snape knew better than to argue with him. Turning, he discovered the door directly in front of him and the dungeon corridor beyond that.

The common room wasn't quite deserted. 'Merlin, Snape you're filthy. What sort of wizard are you?' That the answer was one who was pretending to be harmless and hence offered no more than a two fingered salute was, perhaps, fortunate for them.

Underneath the shower, Snape considered. According to Bill Weasley, goblins considered what they did to be a service, the rendering harmless of old, dark magic for which they deserved compensation. While it was possible that he wouldn't get the diadem back for a while, until he was able to find the means to pay them, at least it would no longer be a horcrux. In fact, once it was clean, he could tell Dumbledore. Let the goblins tell him what they had discovered. And if, after that, Dumbledore questioned Phipps, he would be told that Mr. Snape had said that he wasn't doing anything suspicious.

It was a plan. He went to bed.


	9. transition

The compartment door crashed open. 'Budge over you, boy! Better yet, why don't you find yourself a nice seat somewhere else.

Snape looked up from his book. 'And why should I do that?'

'Because there's more of us. It's only fair. You're on your own. You can find easily yourself a place anywhere.'

'I could, certainly.' said Snape, 'Just as you could discover that someone had poisoned the lot of you. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but, soon.' Idly, he turned a page, 'Did you intend returning to Hogwarts after the summer?'

His interlocutor was hoicked back out into the corridor and the door slammed shut. As the seat seekers sought elsewhere, he could hear explanations retreating down the train. ' . . . Snape, . . . Head of House in dragon shit . . . marauders . . .

Since his notoriety was a fact, Snape had decided, he might as well use it. 'Filch's CAT!' sounded above the clattering of metal wheels on discontinuous metal rails.

Oh, now that really wasn't fair. The business with the cat could only to be hearsay as he knew for a fact that neither she nor Mr. Filch had left his quarters since the morning after the incident. Snape had gone to the hospital wing to enquire after them and been reassured by the healer. Two days later, he'd found himself being used as a means of entry.

'_Mr. Filch!' Madame Pomphrey knocked loudly upon the door. 'Mr. Filch!' Finally, the door opened and Filch glowered out of it. 'Mr. Snape here has been enquiring about Mrs. Norris.' _

_The old caretakers face took on a friendlier expression. 'Werl,' he said. 'Maybe best if you come in and take a look,' he said. They followed him across his 'office' and through the secret door. Filch sighed as Pomphrey's spell barrage hit his back. 'I'm fine, I told you,' he groused. 'Even the gammy knee from the fall I took, first year I was here. I've never felt better.'_

_The healer stopped casting and put away her wand. 'You're fine,' she agreed, resignedly._

_There was a new addition to the workshop: this being a large wicker basket. 'Someone here to see you, my sweet,' said Filch._

_A leg came up. It had to be a leg. And then another one emerged as something resembling the underfed lovechild of a whippet and a side table began, unsteadily, to lever itself upwards. A grey, furry foot, like a small cushion, was lifted out of the basket. It was followed by another. Emitting a cough and then a rumbling sound not unlike that of Hagrid's motor bike, the thing tottered towards him. Halfway through his diagnostics, Snape twisted sideways to take the headbutt on his thigh rather than somewhere more sensitive. He knelt to meet yellow eyes, alight with joy and wicked purpose._

'_She's still got a bit of growing to do, according to Professor Grubbly-Plank,' said Filch. _

_Snape certainly hoped so. Hairless, apart from her feet and a mottled peach fuzz along her spine, the little cat appeared to have been unevenly stretched. 'She's got teeth coming in,' he told the caretaker. 'Is she eating well?'_

'_Phipps!' said Filch. The elf popped into being holding a large catering pack of sardines which he emptied into a bowl beside the basket._

_Mrs. Norris, in attempting to turn around, came perilously close to falling over. Snape caught her and then lifted her and set her down, very carefully, next to the food which she addressed with all the attention it deserved._

'_I only wanted her to get better,' mused Filch. 'I'm guessing that she must have wanted to be bigger.' He ran a gentle hand along her back. 'At least, this way, Peeves won't be stuffing her into suits of armour anymore.'_

A jolt, as the Hogwarts express began its long journey South, sprang Snape from his memories. He returned to his book. The door slid open to reveal first years: four of them, from various houses. 'Would you mind? Only we had a study group going and we got chucked out of our carriage.'

'Who chucked you out of your carriage?'

The children seemed to shrink. 'We don't know.'

And, even if they did, they wouldn't 'tattle'. Even if that idea came from and only served the bullies. They did, however, remember quite well. 'How quiet can you be?' He found himself asking.

'Very quiet.' They surged forward. 'Great galumphing things mice!'

'See that you are.'

Trunks were stowed overhead. They already had their books. All four of them on the seat opposite, they got back to work.

Quietly.

It reminded him of the study sessions he'd set up in his previous life. Slowly, he found himself relaxing. Two chapters later, he decided it was time. He got up and stowed the book in his trunk. He needed to speak to Lily.

Passing the carriage that had been forcibly acquired from his little invaders, without disturbing the sleeping wizards, he sent in a few of the more minor and insidious spells from his repertoire. It would be hours before they took effect and days before the miscreants recovered fully. The train's capacity exceeded necessity by a wide margin. Had they chosen to come down in one of the earlier carriages, they would have found no difficulty in securing an empty compartment. It had simply been easier for them to take someone else's. Only then did it occur to Snape that, as they were more likely to ascribe their internal upsets to the excess of which they had partaken the previous evening than to their more recent egregious behaviour, the punishment was probably pointless.

On the other hand, Karma was a bitch.

Snape, himself, had walked down early and chosen a seat to the rear of the train where the carriages were less popular and hence populous. The quick getaway afforded by those at the front wasn't something he needed. What he had wanted was to be left in peace

Eventually, he found her, near the front of the train. She and her friends also had a multi-house study group, but they were far from being quiet. One of the young ladies was standing on a seat, one shoulder wedged under the luggage rack, flapping her arms and squawking like a chicken. Just then, Lily glanced up and caught his eye. She sprang to her feet and opened the door. 'Severus!' She grinned and shrugged at the madness surrounding her. 'Look. I know they're awful, but I won't see them again until next term. We can talk in the car.'

'That's just it, Lily. There are things I need to get done in London. I'll be taking the Knight Bus home. Will you say hello to your parents for me?'

'Oh,' said Lily, clearly disappointed. 'Well. Nothing too serious, I hope?'

He smiled. 'A few bits and pieces I'm hoping to offload at the apothecary while they're still fresh. Should help defray my expenses for next year.'

'Makes sense,' she agreed. 'Did you ever get your eight galleons off Slughorn?'

'It should have been at least fifteen,' said Snape, 'since I was the one to prepare it. And no, not yet.'

'Oh dear. Well, why don't you come in and sit with us for a bit.'

Snape eyed the compartment full of girls. Boisterous and brightly avid, they eyed him. He shuddered theatrically. 'Perhaps another time.' Her laughter followed him back down the train.

The invasion force had grown during his absence. Four on a seat. Two more on the floor, fortunately without their trunks. All working industriously. He resumed his own seat by the window.

The trolley arrived. Goodies were acquired, without the noise rising to an unacceptable level, and the door again shut.

'Would you like one?'

Snape looked up. He was being offered a Bertie Botts's Every Flavour Bean. 'Did you ever wonder what they use for flavouring?' he asked, mildly.

The boy went white; quickly, he was dragged down onto the floor. 'It's just a charm,' a swift whisper reassured him. 'If you use a _'Finite'_, they just taste of sugar.'

Tranquillity resumed. At intervals, the first years slid out and returned without fuss. Glancing up to discover that he had gained yet another stray, he wondered what on earth was wrong with them. As darkness fell and they reached the outskirts of London, the three whose baggage was elsewhere departed. Distrusting the excitability of children, Snape cast lightening spells on the remaining trunks and levitated them to the floor.

A jolt as the train's metal bumpers met those of the terminus was swiftly followed by the clattering of doors up and down the platform and a brief chorus of goodbyes. Snape put away his book. Then, very aware that, upon leaving the train, he would immediately be subject to the Trace, he activated a carefully chosen assortment of spells for protection upon his baggage and himself, Finally, having checked the platform and the corridor for late goers, he was ready. 'Phipps,' he murmured.

An elf appeared. 'Phipps is fixing windows with Mr. Filch today so Matty will be helping Mr. Snape,' she said, breathlessly handing him the best of the mokeskin bags that the elves had unearthed in the Room of Requirement. The cord he immediately placed around his neck before hiding the bag itself safely under his robes. He turned back to the elf who already had hold of his luggage. She held out her other hand to him. 'If Mr. Snape is ready now?' He took her hand and, a moment later, they were off Diagon Alley, in a narrow passageway beside Gringotts. Matty disappeared. Snape wasted no time in entering the bank and was relieved to find that, while the alley had been thronged, this place was empty.

Apart from the goblins, of course.


	10. Gringotts

'For everything here, eight galleons, one sickle,' said the goblin, setting down his eyeglass.

'Surely the earing alone is worth more than that.'

'The earing is gold,' conceded the teller. 'The stone is transfigured quartz. A nice bit of magic but no real worth. This bracelet is old and rather beautiful. Unfortunately, it is broken, and the cost of repair is likely to be prohibitive. This ring.' He picked up an ugly and tarnished ouroboros, the snake apparently choking on its own tail. 'It's heavy and it's silver.' It clunked back down onto the counter. 'We could, of course, go through everything here but my time is valuable. The offer now stands at eight galleons.'

Snape considered the glittering pile on the counter between them. Riddle would, undoubtedly have raided the room decades before. What had accumulated since had to have been mostly the sort of things that children would not make a fuss about losing. Which the made the offer more than generous. It took him a moment to remember that the goblin had said "everything".

Many common wards contained elements that responded to any sort of goblin magic. There were also laws about what could and could not be sold to goblins. The mokeskin purse, which still lay on the counter, was worn but still serviceable. Its very age made it less likely to attract attention. It was worth a lot more to the teller than it was to him.

'As I do not have the forty galleons that you have informed me is the usual fee for an hour of a curse-breaker's time, would it be possible to arrange for a shorter consultation?'

The goblin turned to confer with his colleague at the next counter along to receive only a shrug. Snape had the impression that mirth was being determinedly supressed. 'Name?'

'Severus Snape.'

Below the counter, something slid open to emit a faint, spicy smell that he suspected came from the teller's lunch and, hence, his own private drawer. Eight galleons were placed on the counter before everything else was swept into a box and stashed out of sight. A metal capsule was produced, and the halves unscrewed from one another. Into it went a brief note together with three galleons before it was reassembled and dropped into a hidden recess. The soft click of metal was followed by a hiss of air and the rattling of a pneumatic system as the capsule was transferred to some other part of the bank. Snape watched as the goblin made an entry in a ledger before dropping it and the remaining five galleons into the drawer. 'Arrangement fee. The lift is over there.' He turned to see a section of wall in no way different from any other. 'Over there,' the goblin insisted and then proceeded to ignore him.

Snape hauled his school trunk over to the section of wall that slid obligingly open to reveal a metal box. Dull illumination came from strips below a ceiling that was high enough to be comfortable for a wizard or, from its distinctly dented state, a small cadre of goblins equipped with pole axes or similar. Visible controls were entirely absent. He got in.

Changes in perceived gravity and time elapsed suggested a descent of several floors. Battered steel slid aside to reveal white painted walls with plain, black doors. One of them stood open. In front of it sat a witch in a wheelchair. 'You Snape?' she scowled.

'Yes.'

'In.'

Pandemonium was his first thought. A large room filled with about forty busy goblins. Two of them were folding a tent. Two more were trying to lever something closed while another jumped up and down on it. Movement caught his eye and he ducked before flying metal took pieces out of the wall behind him. In the midst of all this was a wide table. A timepiece was set on it by a particularly fierce looking goblin who then sat down and, fixing Snape with a dirty look, hit a lever. The clock began to count down from four and a half minutes: the time his three galleons had bought. Ducking past the tent folders, stepping over what looked like a pile of canvas snakes, Snape pulled the string of the mokeskin bag contained the horcrux over his head. He opened and inverted and shook the thing but, apparently, the contents did not want to come out. He looked inside to discover that the diadem had been covered in white cloth sewn with runes protective against dark magic which had become trapped in his grip. Abruptly the bag was ripped from his fingers. Without taking his eyes from Snape's the goblin reached in.

'Don't,' he exclaimed leaning forward, only to stop as something sharp dug into his side. He looked down to see a knife angled under his ribcage and he could distinctly feel a sharp object just to the left of his spine. Behind him, something fell and rang and clattered and was silent.

The face of the goblin with his hand on a horcrux had gone completely blank. 'It's trying to make me put it on,' he said in tones of surprise and delight. Blankness gave way to an expression that Snape had last seen on the face of one of the soppier first years faced with kittens. It didn't belong on the goblin. Ravenclaw's diadem emerged sparkling into the light and was set, gently, upon the desk. 'And how did you come by this, mister Snape.'

'At Hogwarts, in a sort of glorified junk room . . .'

'On the seventh floor?'

'Yes.'

'Did you put it on?'

'No,' In his head, Snape was slammed sideways into a pile of junk. He allowed the memory to play before shoving the witch out of his head.

'He's an Occlumens,' she reported.

'Did he put it on?'

'No. An elf prevented him. And then sent him to us.'

'Indeed?' Someone handed him Snape's potions textbook, opened to a page full of the young potioneer's own corrections to the text. The goblin paged through it thoughtfully. 'How are you getting on at school mister Snape?'

'Well enough.'

'Well enough to create your own spells?'

Guardedly, he nodded.

The apprenticeship papers Snape had been taking home for his parents to sign were perused. 'It is your intention to become a healer?'

'Yes.'

'Yet you didn't ask why Harry was in a wheelchair?'

'Harry?'

'Angharad. My esteemed colleague.' The witch waved her fingers.

'Magic affecting bones can remain in the system for years, at times surfacing erratically. Not necessarily recommended for a curse breaker.'

'So then,' continued the goblin. 'You are, at least, fairly bright. Tell me, how were you intending to pay for the cleansing of the diadem?'

'As it was my understanding that goblins consider such things anathema, I didn't think I'd have to.

The curse breaker looked up at him and waited.

'Had I taken it to Professor Dumbledore, there would have been the risk of his destroying it out of hand. Bringing it here, given the Nation's own rules regarding ownership, absolute worst case, you would keep it. It would still exist. I had rather hoped that you might pe persuaded to advise the Board of Hogwarts that you had come into possession of Ravenclaw's diadem and that there were fees outstanding.'

The goblin nodded solemnly. 'It was not gifted to the witch herself but to the school. Thus, for as long as Hogwarts continues, the nation will have no claim on it. You do not wish to keep it for yourself? Or at least, to hold onto it for a while.'

'It doesn't belong to me.'

'It was missing for almost a millennium. No particular individual is being deprived of its use. It could be argued that some sort of finder's fee is due. As a student, you are of Hogwarts. I am unaware of any restriction that might prevent you from using it. It is also priceless.'

It was tempting. How much easier would be his task if his thinking were clearer. The diadem shone and he resisted. 'Unknown magic affecting the mind and it doesn't belong to me. Even after you have removed the taint, use may exact a price. And something like that could very well have its own priorities. It would also make me one hell of a target.'

The big evil grin definitely was at home on the goblin's face. It gave way to something more contemplative. 'For one taught history by Cuthbert Binns, you appear to be unusually well-informed concerning goblins.'

Snape made a derisive sound. Having no ready explanation for the knowledge that he had gained from both Flitwick and Bill Weasley, the line of questioning needed to be diverted quickly. 'Goblin rebellions. That there, on its own, tells you all you need to know.'

'How so?'

'About the mindset of the individual using the expression. Even if it were not damn near terminally boring, the informational content is likely such that the course belongs in the bins.'

The goblin turned to consult silently with the witch who gave a sharp nod. 'Decontamination,' he said. Snape's legs were swept out from under him. Falling backward onto broad goblin shoulders, his wand was snatched before he could reach for it. He found himself being carried away.


End file.
